Not Far From Here
by E-sap445
Summary: A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. HGDM.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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_A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; __it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darken'd ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits..._

_-- John Keats_

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In the black-wrought war of Britain's wizarding underworld, there came one beam of light, one armistice. Where the gruesome attacks paused. Where the weekly Azkaban escapes paused. Where time itself had seemed to pause, as though it were tipping its hat to the newly graduated class of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As was tradition, the students had gathered alone for their valedictorian's speech. Their faces bespoke weariness and of their seating on the lawn deep prejudice; nevertheless, the springtime wind mixed their scents in the air.

Then, with a _pop, _prim robes and a band of sunset atop his head, the valedictorian stood behind the podium

He cleared his throat. He began, "In the tradition of commencement speeches, I thought to remark on how close we've become, on how adult we're becoming, on how our whole lives stretch before us. I was going to remark on those things, but then I realized that, for us, those platitudes do not hold.

"We are not becoming adults, we have become adults. We have been adults since this war has pulled us into her folds, since both sides have seen in us persons old enough to kill and to torture, and so to be killed and to be tortured.

"And neither do our lives stretch before us, whole and healthy; rather, fractions are all we have left.

"And, most obviously, we have not become close. Instead, we have become the divided and malicious microcosm of this war. We have become so cold to one another, so distant, that in a few month's time we might end one another in blaze of green.

"So what is our graduation then? Is it merely the last time we abide in company and then part as enemy soldiers? Is it nothing but the end?

"Or is it everything? Once this speech is through, I will lead you into the Great Hall, into a party unattended , by all but us. We may do as we like. We may, for instance, free ourselves from role's restraint. We may, for instance, arm ourselves with memories of classless joy, of hateless dance, of nameless love and merriment - memories to keep us warm on winter nights and human in darker hours, memories to mend this world once this war is won and lost.

"We cannot band and fight come tomorrow morn. All that we can do is fill to tonight with forgetful and let it be forgotten for the remainder. And so I ask you Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors and Slytherins... what shall we make of tonight?"

Not a body moved, not a wind was felt, not a word was spoken aloud. Then their faces changed - for bewildered to understanding to revelatory to rapturously determined. From this changing sea, came a girl crowned in curls and swathed in white. She took his hand with challenge. He nodded and together they led an the exodus of student into the Great Hall.

Their remnant scent was all there was to remember their great moment, but with the steady springtime flow, it quickly was diluted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer- I own nothing**

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CHAPTER 2.1 - THE PARTY

While the fervor that walked them into the Great Hall didn't disappear, it morphed into a general feeling of what-next-?. And so much shuffling of uneasy feet and twitching of uneasy mouths ensued.

Then Theodore Nott, in a fashion most royal, picked the orchid from his lapel, walked into the Gryffindor cluster and slipped his flower behind the rosy ear of Lavender Brown. His skin flushed as though the act had cost him something quite intimate. "Lavender," he leaned to in to whisper, "... a dance?"

Lavender's answering blush fell upon her shoulders like a veil of dusk. Theodore closed his eyes, overwhelmed. She took his hand in hers. For once, her giggles evaded her.

The onlookers were impressed. They watched Theodore and Lavender devote themselves in their moment, in their dance beneath fairy light and charmed chandeliers. They watched, and they could understand that the humanity Draco asked for was not a renunciation of their beliefs, but realization of their lives. They watched and then they paired, drifting slowly onto the dance floor.

"Theo," she asked, "why can't it? Why can't it, Theo?"

"Don't," he warned. She shut her eyes and drew closer. Wisps of her hair caressed his face. He held her with marked arms. She lay her head against his shoulder. The two were alone in a sea of pairs.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, despite fervent wishing.**

Note: This chapter is still not totally complete; I reckon it has another another segment before it's 'done'. I know its a little unorthodox to post segments like this, but I do this in the hope that someone else would rather have snippets of new stories ever other day than wait _weeks _for giant chapters.

To my few reviewers, thanks for the lovely comments!

My _strange _thoughts on reviewing:

_Writing a story about people and hearing back from people  
is like  
writing a poem about tulips and having a tulip bid you 'Good Morn'.  
_  
It's lovely, because even if the tulip tells me my story blows... a tulip just spoke to me. And maybe, just maybe, that tulip will tell me something about tulips that I didn't know or didn't see, so that my next poem can better represent tulips.

So... please review, _tulips_... :)

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CHAPTER 2.2 - THE PARTY

Hermione sat by herself, not by an anti-social tendency, but rather an anthropologic tendency. She was regarding the unfolding scene from the annexing veranda.

Inside she saw her class, the dancing had heated and the people pressed tight together. Frenzied loving. But she saw nothing vulgar in it, nothing of tarnish or taint. They came combined at physical level into flashes of ancient beauty. _Like a spell_, she mused.

_Or an orgy, _she thought with chuckle. Her gaze passed over the crowd and then came to rest on Draco. The bully of her seven years and the hero of her night. The dark, brooding hero whose words inspired, but whose face remained astonishingly somber.

She felt a tinge of pity for him, sensing that he might have it a little worse than the others. _But what_, she wonder. It couldn't be for lack of partners that he didn't dance, for there seemed to be several glances tossed his way, invitations to spend freedom's night with company. It couldn't be... she stopped. Their gazes tangled.

Then, to her surprise, he extracted himself from conversation and walked out to her.

"Alone, Granger?" his voice as cool and as opaque as his expression. The walls resounded the distinct rap of his heels against the tiles and then absorbed into the night. She oriented her head towards him as one would a thought - that rapt and inquisitive tilt.

Words and thoughts and questions pulsed in the back of her throat, a physical manifestation of her new, strange desire to speak to him. It really wasn't desire though, it was need; like hunger, but sexier and more baffling. She couldn't properly sift through all that came to her mind so she just answered his question, "Yes, I am."

He nodded and pulled a seat beside her. The two sat watched the dancers pulse.

Along the periphery of the dance floor, two dances were locked in a rather stiff and slightly awkward stance. It was Neville and Pansy. The laughing couple only added to the overwhelming feeling that had occupied Hermione throughout the night, because for despite all of Pansy's hateful remarks and loathing glares, Hermione couldn't see her as anything but a darling - swinging there in Neville's arms, smile as darling as a charm bracelet.

Having caught the direction of Hermione's sight, Draco remarked, "When she was little, she wanted to be a Herbology professor. She'd play all day in the dirt, bring out her dolls and arrange them like students.

"Use to drive her parents mad with all the gowns she'd sully and the meals she'd miss and all her talk of plants and soil and whatnot." Looking through the French windows, the two watched as Pansy laughed at something Neville whispered in her ear.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, knowing that Pansy didn't take her Herbology Uppers.

"Purebloods do not play with mud," Draco's lips tightened. Hermione away from him. If one of the dancers would have looked through the window, they would have seen two shadows of perfect symmetry - heads looking in opposite direction and bodies angled toward the other. They would have seen it had they looked, but they didn't look.

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